What Are Little Girls Made Of?
by JA Baker
Summary: The truth was, she wasn't all that sure why she kept doing it. Some kind of compulsion; a persistent need to be the one place in all the galaxy she least wanted to be and was least welcome. But then again, she had a long history of getting into places people went to great trouble to try and keep her out of...


_It's all owned by people other than myself  
__Others have suggested this crossover,  
__I just decided to give it a go  
__With thanks to Todeswind for beta-reading_

**What Are Little Girls Made Of?**

A stiff kick was all that was needed to shift the first security grate, but that had been intended to do little more than keep out wind-blown garbage and the casually curious. It would only get harder from there on in but that was exactly how she liked it. She kept telling herself that it was all just a little game, a test to see if she was still as sharp as ever. To keep her opponent on their toes, lest someone less gifted than her attempted that which all logic and reason would say was suicidally impossible. If she kept telling herself that long enough, she might one day start to believe it. In truth, she wasn't all that sure _why_ she kept doing it. It was a compulsion, a need to be the one place she least wanted – the one place she was wanted.

Oh, he had made that abundantly clear the day they had first met, all those long years ago. Far longer than she liked to admit, truth be told.

She had grown used to the idea of not knowing who she was or where she had come from. It had added to the mystique surrounding her; a secret even the greatest of detectives could never unveil. Just who was the woman in red? Where was she from? Where would she strike next? Many claimed that she wasn't an individual, but rather an alias used by many. And there was some truth to that. Some people had used her name to cover their own activities in the past, but never for long. She was, she was proud to say, the single greatest thief in all of human history. So great, in fact, that she had gone so far as to erase all electronic, and most written records of her existence.

There were clues, here and there, because a cleaver mind can tell a lot about something that is missing by the hole it leaves. Some spoke of her in hushed voices, in the dark places where the ever vigilant gaze of justice and law was unlikely to fall. There were hundreds if not thousands of stories, many of which she had made up herself to throw others off the scent. She had grown to like her anonymity, the ability to simply disappear into the background without a trace.

Reality called her momentarily, as she sidestepped a new pitfall and danced effortlessly through a grid of randomly shifting lasers. Beams capable of cutting through the thickest armor like a hot knife through butter glittered about her swirling cloak. That was new, a clear sign that they had taken her last little visit seriously.

It was so nice to know that they cared.

Shame probably wasn't the right word to describe how he had reacted the first time she met him. Surprise, certainly, a little disappointment and just a faint hint of amusement. After all, with her lineage, she was never going to be anything but the best in what ever field she went into. It just so happened that her chosen profession, claimed by many to be the second oldest on record, wasn't exactly something he could be seen to be openly proud of. And their certainly was some pride behind the scorn he had shown when he first banished her from his sight, denying her that which should have been hers by birthright. For, no matter what else was said, she was without a doubt the single greatest thief the galaxy had ever known. A thief who struck fear into the darkest hearts, a legend in her own not-inconsiderable lifetime. The woman against whom no lock would hold nor fastened portal bar, who could steal your darkest secrets just as easily as she could the rings from your fingers. The woman who stole for the thrill; the bigger the risk, the greater the glory. A woman who'd tricked the devil and outwitted god, burning a path of larceny and misdirection clear across the galaxy. A woman who simply vanished ten-thousand years ago, on the day she met her father. The day she learnt the truth of who and what she had been born to become.

To say that she had daddy issues would have been an understatement of truly _legendary_ proportions. And to say she had misbehaved trivializes her aptitude.

Creating an entire parathion of new aliases, and spurned on by a better understanding of her nature and abilities, she had embarked on a crime-spree of truly galactic proportions. No prize, no mater how well hidden or guarded was safe from her hands as she burned a trail from one side of the known worlds to the other. The wealth she accumulated could have bought star systems, but no matter what she did, no matter what treasure or dark secret she acquired, nothing filled the nameless void somewhere deep inside her soul. It had taken her years to work out what the problem was, during which she risked, won and lost the wealth of entire worlds on the roll of a dice or the flip of a coin. In time, she came to the conclusion that if her father chose to ignore her, she'd just have to make herself impossible to ignore.

All the crimes she had committed before in all her long time paled in comparison to what followed; she doggedly pursued her father as he travailed the stars, seeking out her lost siblings and bring countless worlds under his protection and rule. At every turn she was there, a fleeting figure in red, just seen out of the corner of his eye, but always unmistakable. She stole treasures and keepsakes right out from under his nose, only to return them... eventually. No opportunity to make his life that little bit more interesting and difficult than it had to be was missed. No chance to embarrass him was passed up. And always did she make it clear just who it was that was tormenting him, for all his great and terrible power.

"Hell hath no fury like a daughter scorned" became a phrase whispered amongst his advisers and courtiers.

She paused her trip down memory lane, her senses warning of something nearby. Stepping back, she vanished into the shadows, hands reach down to the weapons hidden in her long overcoat. Normally she despised violence, something that was no doubt a surprise to anyone who knew her lineage, but she was not above employing it in self defense. And this part of her father's house, so far away from the light of day, there were threats and dangers that the guards were probably totally unaware of. The slender fingers of her left hand tightened around the hilt of a razor-sharp knife, while the right found the grip of her pistol. She had never used either of them for the intent they had been created for, but they were as comfortable in her grasp as any lock-pick or pry-bar. Whatever it was, it was getting closer, and she could feel her body getting tense, blood pumping in her ears like the clamoring of a mad drummer. The world around her seemed to slow down, her body responding in ways that she had no control over, the bitter taste of adrenalin rising in the back of her throat. Her vision narrowed, all her senses heightened far beyond that which any normal human could ever hope to obtain.

But then the unseen intruder started to move away of its own accord.

There had been times, more than she could count, when those reflexes had served her well, keeping her always one step ahead of those who sought to stop her fun. But for some reason she had never been able to fathom, they were almost uncontrollable the closer she got to her father, as if his mere presence brought out the darker impulses she kept locked deep inside. The simple fact that she was able to keep her blood-lust at bay had been a true surprise to her father, one of the few times she was ever sure he was actually impressed by anything she did. Much like her siblings, she had been created to be a living weapon, a warrior-queen to be sent forth to fight their father's seemingly endless wars. But she alone had tempered the beast, keeping it firmly under control, save for the rare occasions when she needed it to survive. Not that she was keen to rely too heavily on it; it's promise of power and glory was a heady wine that she had drunk of far more often than she would have liked. No, if she was ever going to prove herself, it would have to be through what she had strived to become, not what her father had made her to be.

After a while, her little antics at her father's expense had grown bolder and more extravagant, until he had been forced to act. But even then, he had not confronted her directly, instead sending his most favoured son to chastise her. It had been the first time she had met any of her siblings, but it had hardly been a warm, family gathering. He had tracked her down, positioning his most loyal retainers to close the net around her, forcing her to a prearranged location where he had been waiting. Her own, somewhat slender form did much to hide the raw power and agility hidden in her DNA, and she was somewhat taller than would be considered the norm for a human woman of her apparent age, but she had been little more than a doll before the imposing demigod that was Horus of the Luna Wolves. She had kept her distance as best she could, well aware of exactly how a direct confutation between the two of them would end.

Forced to express their father's displeasure at her actions with words rather than fists, he had warned her to stop her mischievous activities and stay away, less their next meeting be their last. Stopping her circling, she had stood before him, easily within reach of his fists that could have crushed the very life out of her, and demanded to know the fate of the warriors that had been uplifted using her own genetic legacy. In response, Horus had flung his head back and laughed, a deep resounding boom like a thunderstorm with a sense of humour, so loud it shook the very foundations of the buildings around them. He laughed long and hard, before looking down at her with what she was sure he intended to be a warm smile, and rested one massive, gauntleted hand on her shoulder. She had struggled under the weight, but held her ground and looked him strait in the eye as she repeated her question.

"Fear not, little sister." He had assured her, "Our father will keep your..._unkindness_, safe until such time as you are ready, willing and able to take your place at their head."

With that she had nodded and left, taking the first ship headed off-world, not caring where it was headed.

It felt good to be travailing again, free to go wherever the winds of fate took her, rather than following her father's seemingly unending path of death and destruction. She visited more worlds than she had ever dreamed possible, basking under the light countless suns, moving on whenever the mood took her. She was fully aware that she was being followed by her father's agents the entire time, and she took no small delight in embarking in such behavior that would have scandalized half the galaxy had her true linage been common knowledge. She took more lovers than she could ever count; male, female, mutant and xenos alike, indulging in every depravity the galaxy had to offer, sure that her father would receive highly detailed reports of her activities.

After all, while he may have been as old as human civilization, there had to be _something_ out there that would shock the old bastard.

But her first love would always be theft, and for the first time in centuries, her name had been uttered openly as she once again embarked on one of her little crime sprees. But this time it was different, a little something thrown into the mix to prove to her father that there was more to her than reckless thrill seeking and boundless hedonism. That and she was at least partly sure that he was the one who first popularized the who notion of robbing from the rich and giving to the poor. With a new purpose in life, she sort out those who had abused their positions of power and influence to extort and otherwise make life unnecessarily harder for those lower down the social ladder. Noble houses, planetary governors and rogue traders alike felt the sting of her own particular brand of social justice as she sat about redistributing wealth. A woe betide anyone who sort to misuse the vast sums she donated to countless charitable organizations and funds.

In all that time she did her best to keep away from her siblings, sure that they had all been made aware of her past actions, and unwilling to risk encountering one who felt less forgiving then Horus. She met one of them, quite by chance, on a small and desolate world far out on the edge of known space. Like her, he had been shunned by their father, cast into exile for his action before his true linage had been discovered. But where as she sought their fathers attention, he only sought absolution, an endless quest that kept him ever wondering. She only met him the once, but she felt closer to him than any other being she had ever met, a bond that neither the passage of time nor the vast gulf of space could diminish. Where ever she was, she wished him well, and hoped he would one day find the peace he was looking for.

She paused her trip down memory lane as she came to one of the many safe-rooms she had set up over the centuries; her father's palace was the size of a small country, a city within a city, making crossing it on foot in any meaningful time an impossibility. Fortunately, its size also worked in her advantage. There as no way to maintain and monitor the entire complex, leaving gaps that she could exploit to move about and rest when needed. She took time to make sure that all the traps she had left behind the last time she had come this way were still in place, and that the somewhat over zealous guardians of the palace hadn't found this particular breach in their defenses and prepared a little surprise for her. Not that she blamed them, as the last thing she wanted was for someone with more sinister motives to take advantage of her handy-work. There was no evidence that the room had been touched since her last visit, countless years before, so she decided to take a few hours to rest up and prepare for the final stage of her little mission, making sure to re-pack everything she wanted to have with her when she left. It was always advisable to exit her father's house quicker than she entered, lest someone decide to make her stay a little more permanent. Disgraced or not, she was still her father's daughter, seemingly as yet untainted by the Ruinous Powers, and there were those who would have no doubt like to use her as a figurehead to forward their own agenda's.

And that was not something she was willing to submit to; not now, and not the last time someone had sought to make her into a figurehead.

She had been as surprised as anyone when her brother had thrown his little temper-tantrum, splitting their father's house clean down the middle, with brother pitted against brother. Both sides had sent agents after her, either looking to bring her over to their cause, or ensure that she didn't join the other. It had taken time, money and a lot of heard-leaned skill to shake them all off, leaving her so far from the fighting that most people around her didn't even realize that the fate of their entire race was being fought over in a bloody civil war. While she had no stomach for open conflict, and little sense of loyalty to the nation her father had forged, two things remained unchanged: firstly, she still lived in hope of one-day winning his acceptance if not his approval, and secondly, she kind of liked the galaxy the way it was. And so, the not-quite-diligent-daughter went to war in her own unique way, quietly supporting those who in turn sported her father, and destabilizing those who worked against him. And it had been such glorious fun, turning all her skills, tricks and know-how to actively help the man who had turned his back on her because of the life she had embraced. Maybe, she had told herself at the time, just maybe he was understand that there was more than one way to gain power and influence, more than one way to make your mark on the universe. And, if she was really lucky, maybe he'd be willing to accept her as his daughter in name as well as fact, granting her the same honors he had most of her brothers. Not that she was sure what she would have done with her own army of genetically enhanced super-soldiers, but it would be nice to at last have the option to hand if she ever needed it.

It had been fun, yes, until the day forces loyal to one of her treacherous brothers had burned a world she had saved from falling into their hands. She had watched entire continents turn to ash and smoke from the last ship to make it out, allowed to depart by the fleet of ships in orbit even as their continued to rain down fresh death and destruction upon an already doomed world so that would would be spread of the fate of all those who opposed the new order. Even on his darkest day, her father had never once resorted to such casual and callas brutality, and it had hardened her heart. Before, it had all still been very much a game to her, but after that dark day, her father's war was her war. Heading into the thick of the fighting had been both hard and easy; there were plenty of refuge laden ships heading towards the imagined safety of her father's capital, but the path led through the worst of the fighting, with both sides growing increasingly indiscriminate.

She never once saw the front lines, of that at least she was relived; the sight and smell of those less fortunate had been bad enough, and she had found herself waylaid by a need to help those displaced and otherwise damaged by the war, using her skills to ensure that they got what aid there was. Once, she had made the mistake of appealing directly to someone she knew was aware of her true linage, only to find herself imprisoned, held to be used as a bargaining ship with whichever side came out on top. Getting away had been easy, especially as she had cared little for finesse or collateral damage. She hadn't killed the man who had underestimated her resourcefulness and overestimated his own brilliance, but she had set into motion a chain of events that did lead to his death at the hands of those more loyal to her father.

In all her long life, it was the closest she had ever come to directly taking the life of another, and she had been sicked at how easy she had found it.

The war had reached its bloody conclusion before she had reached her intended destination, but she had taken some comfort in the knowledge that she had helped those caught in the crossfire. News of her fathers fate had hit her like a speeding truck, and she had sank quickly into a deep depression upon realizing the it might now be too late to ever gain his acceptances. In her disrepair, she had embarked on a epic spree of drink and drugs that would have killed a normal human, drifting in a haze from world to world, with neither direction nor care, sobering up only when her ready funds ran out, then returning to her drunken state the moment she had rectified it. She had drifted, like a boat without a rudder, for longer than she could remember, before finally waking on a distant world that had not experienced the horrors of war in centuries. There she had slowly rebuilt herself, spending days meditating on who she was and what she was really looking for. It had been hard, both mentally and physically, and had taken years, but the woman who had emerged from it at the end was not the same woman who had arrived on that world a washed-up drunk. Casting off much of the shallow, self-delusional aspects of her youth, she emerged what she hoped was a better person, more emotionally stable than she had been before.

The time she had spent wallowing in self-pity had changed the galaxy, with all of her brothers dead, missing... or worse. Her father, now promoted to godhood by his countless followers, was locked away on his distant throne, even more inaccessible than ever.

As one of his few children still at large she was seen as even more of a commodity than before, and so for the first time in her long life, discretion became her watch-word. Theft and deception were still her stock-and-trade, but gone were the grandiose, overly-public crimes that had been her trademark for so long. She even forswore her trademark red trench-coat and matching fedora hat, changed her hair color and accent like other people would change their socks. It was a new life, a fresh start in a universe far stranger than it had been before, and she embraced it fully. Names and worlds came and went, moving on as soon as people started to notice that she didn't seam to be aging, despite all that make-up and hair-dye could do. She made sure she was always comfortable, but never ostentatious enough to attract attention. There had been times when she had grown too complacent, stayed too long or let her hand slip, something she felt sure was part of an unconscious need to keep living on the edge, and she had been forced to fleet those in positions of power and influence.

There had been more than a few close-calls and dodged-bullets down the centuries, both metaphorical and literal.

But, for all her grand plans and talk of a fresh start, it had not been long before she had first felt herself drawn back to her old quest to gain her fathers acceptance, as impossible as it might be. After all, it was not as if she could simply walk up to the gates of his palace and announce herself. Even if she hadn't been taken for a mad woman and mocked or a heretic and attacked, there was the very real risk that she might be believed. There was no way of knowing how that would end. So she had started playing her little game, reminding those that knew the truth that she was still around, while keeping a low enough profile that they could continue to pretend that she didn't. She wasn't foolish enough to consider it a true game; they would capture her if they could, kill her if they needed to. In turn, she would cause such harm to them as was needed to effect her escapes, without doing any permanent damage to their security arrangements. In other times, some form of gentlemanly arrangement might have come into play, with both sides just playing their part for appearances sake. But they did not live in a time for such accommodations, and as such, both sides played for keeps. Refreshed, she left her refuge, slipping into a low, narrow passageway intended to permit the movement of maintenance-Servitors, and made her way deeper into the palace. There were sensors and security measures intended to stop anyone from attempting what she was doing, and they would have stopped anyone else.

But she was Carmen Isabella Sandiego, only daughter of the God-Emperor of Mankind and the single greatest thief the galaxy had ever known: to her, they were little more than a distraction.

She passed the calcified remains of what she assumed was an assassin that had mistaken a melta-mine for a malfunctioning light fitting, proof if ever it was needed at how good her father's guards were at doing their job. Slowing her place, she inched round corners and through junctions, keen senses on edge for the fainted clue that her presence had been detected. Reaching the final hatch, she paused to take a deep breath; from here on out, there would be no going back. Stepping out into the shadows and the low mist that covered the floor, she instantly took in the entirety of the room, including the placements of the guards. Some were standing sentry, while others moved around, making them harder to avoid. She had long ago learnt that the human eye, even an enhanced one, had a tendency to pick out areas that were too dark, too quiet, and to fixate on flashes of movement on the very periphery of their vision.

As a survival trait, it was perfect, but to a thief, it was bloody annoying. Still, it did mean that it was far easier to remain unseen when you were standing directly in front of someone, so long as you had the knack for blending into the background or the foreground. Her father had created each of his children with a specific gift, a unique skill that they alone possessed, keyed to their intended role in his government. Horus had been the Warmaster, Leman the Executioner, while she was... well, she'd never quite workout out if she was supposed to be a spy or an assassin. In any case, she had the innate ability to simply slip between the shadows, to pass unseen and unheard by all but the most vigilant, or those gifted with psychic powers.

Those she had developed other ways of dealing with.

The massive room was an ocean of darkness with isolated islands of light that let her make her way closer to the centre, drifting as silently as a dream passed guards and sensors, until she knelt just outside of the circle of light that surrounded the father's throne itself. From then it, it would be less about finesse and more about speed, skill and timing, the point where she would be most vulnerable to discovery and attack. There was no doubt that some of the guards on duty would remember one of her previous visits, but the younger ones were more likely to be trigger-happy with a apparent threat to their God-Emperor. More than one of them had taken a pot-shot at her over the centuries, where as their older and more experienced brethren were prone to try and physically tackle her. Given that they were as physically capable as her more combat-orientated brothers, there was little doubt in her mind that they'd be able to restrain her if they got the chance, so she always made sure they didn't. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and worked to centre herself. Everything that had happened in the long centuries of her life, the countless worlds she had visited, the wonders and horrors she had seen, all faded away to nothing, leaving only there here and now.

Her entire body tensed, like a racehorse at the gate, ready to be unleashed with a single purpose in mind. Time seemed to slow around her as adrenaline and more exotic hormones filled her bloodstream, her senses sharpening, her reaction-time shortening far beyond that of even the most experienced Astartes or Custodes. When she moved, there was a strange disconnection between her thoughts and her actions; to an outside observer, she would have been almost a blur, but to her, it was as if she was moving in slow motion, her mind working far faster than her body was capable of. She was half way to the throne before the first of the guards to see her realized what was going on, her legs tensing to jump as they attempted to shout a warning as they drew their weapon. Springing forward, she shifted her weight, twisting in the air as the first shot missed her by more than a meter. This was when she was most vulnerable; limited by the laws of physics, a moving target as she sailed through the air. More of the guards were reacting, either alerted by the cry and the sudden movement. Hands would no doubt be reaching for alarms and weapons with equal speed and determination. The quickest-minded perhaps recognized who she was and what she was doing, some no doubt fearing that she had finally succumb to the Ruinous Powers, as they had always feared she would , and that her intent was to finish off the job Horus hard started millennia ago. There was no way to put their minds at rest in advance without revealing her intent, so it just made everything all the more interesting - something part of her enjoyed. Shouts of alarm and outrage filled the air, mixing with the sound of weapons being drawn and discharged, but she ignored them all as she reached into her coat, drew her customary gift, and deftly let it drop at her father's feat.

Hitting the ground running, she vanished into the mist and shadows, followed by a hail of weapons fire and orders to halt. She neither knew nor cared if they were talking to her or those doing the shooting; either way, she had no intention of paying them heed. The job was over, leaving only the chase and, in her own mind, at least, inevitable escape. Sometimes she'd give them the slip quickly, others, she'd let them keep sight of her longer as she led them a merry chase through the halls and corridors of her fathers house, just to keep it interesting. Not that it really mattered to her; she had pulled off that which anyone in their right mind would have said was impossible, and a band if irate guards were chasing after her as distant alarms started to sound. It was everything she lived for, and she couldn't help but smile.

Back in the throne room, a single red rose lay on the floor: a loving daughters gift to her father.

**The End**


End file.
